The Sam Winchester Curse
by Sheyrena Wyrsabane
Summary: Sam is convinced that he's going to die alone, because no one could ever love him. He meets Natasha and thinks he's going to die alone loving a woman who will never love him back. Companion piece to Domestic Bliss.


A/N: So, this was more difficult than I anticipated it being. Having to work around a set plot/time constraints put in by Domestic Bliss was interesting to work around and trying to make this it's own thing without copying Domestic Bliss was also a challenge. So a lot of the events in Domestic Bliss are referenced and not gone into in much detail so I apologize if that's confusing.

Also! Found my love for Sam while writing this story. I was kind of ambivalent towards him in the series, but when I wrote this I really had to get in his head, and I've found sympathy for his character, and I like him much more than I did before.

* * *

It starts off as a bit of a dare. Sam's just come off preventing the apocalypse and stopping an alien invasion, and he's enjoying himself at the after party when Natasha slinks over to the pool, flashing smooth skin, and she gives him a smile that says _come and get me if you think you can_, and Sam's going, because he's never been good at resisting a challenge.

The problem, though, is that Sam doesn't do no strings attached sex. Dean tried to teach him the art, back before Clint's presence changed him, but the lessons never stuck. There had been Madison and the curator's daughter, and there was sex, but those hadn't been a one and done sort of deal.

Yeah, there had been complications; the werewolf thing was a downer, and the hunter lifestyle keeps Sam from being able to put down roots and just be with someone, but that doesn't stop Sam from wanting it.

It might be romantic and cliché, and Dean might bemoan the fact that Sam's a prissy girl, but Sam doesn't just have sex.

Natasha's supposed to be different. She's a spy, an assassin, and she's dangerous, and Sam doesn't want to get involved with dangerous women anymore, not after Ruby. He tells himself it's going to be for one night and then they're going to be moving on, because Dean might love Clint, but he's not a stationary kind of guy, and there's still plenty of evil lurking around even if the apocalypse is done.

Except, their one night stay turns into two, and Tony gives them a suite that Dean doesn't use, and Sam's not sure what to do. Had Natasha slept with him assuming it was going to be a one-time thing? Does she want him to come back again? Should Sam settle into the new suite and pretend it never happened?

This is why Sam doesn't do casual sex. He doesn't know how to make things not awkward.

Natasha solves his problem when she sees him lingering in the living room after Clint and Dean have disappeared for the night. She gives him a look and retreats to her room, clearly expecting him to follow. So Sam does.

It's not a one-night stand if it happens more than once, but it can still be casual. Right?

* * *

The morning of day three, Natasha wakes Sam up with her mouth trailing kisses down his chest, and it's definitely not a bad way to wake up, and Sam thinks that maybe he could get used to this.

Of course, that's the morning where Tony Stark has to go and ruin everything.

Sam thinks it's cool that SHIELD wants them on as consultants and not just because it'll give him an excuse to stay here in the best place they've ever stayed and with Natasha. He understands now that he's a hunter, and that's the kind of legacy you can't escape. It doesn't mean he likes constantly running from the law, wondering why if he's doing the right thing he's always in trouble.

SHIELD can offer some permanence and some legality to a life that typically has neither.

Dean, predictably, freaks out and hauls them to Sioux Falls.

* * *

Regardless of how Sam feels about Dean uprooting them and getting Cas to teleport them halfway across the country, he's glad to see Bobby. He knows Bobby can take care of himself, and he knows better than to express too much concern, but Bobby had gotten a pretty nasty concussion fighting Lillith, and he doesn't have anyone to look after him while Sam and Dean are gone.

Maybe Dean's right about not making SHIELD their permanent home. They have a home at Bobby's. If they're ever going to settle down, this is where they should do it.

Dean goes to puke his guts up in the bathroom and Bobby and Sam share a smile before Sam gets to looking through the potential threats list Bobby's come up with. Sam knows that not every electrical storm means demons and that not every disappearance could mean ghosts or spirits, but the list is still long.

He'd thought that stopping the apocalypse would at least put a bit of a dampener on evil.

"It's never going to stop, is it?" Sam asks as he pays closer attention to a series of disappearances that happen the same day every five years. That definitely looks like ghost activity.

"The battle between good and evil won't end until Christ returns to Earth," Cas says, solemn.

Not the kind of pick-me-up Sam had been looking for. He pulls out his phone and sends off a quick text to Natasha.

Sam: Sorry we left with no warning. My brother's emotionally stunted.

He feels like he should say something else, but he doesn't know what. Should he ask her how training is going or is that too invasive? Maybe he can ask her if the bed's lonely without him. No, too flirty. Maybe he should just leave it as it is. He doesn't want to seem desperate.

He puts his phone on the table and starts looking into the history of the area to see if he can find whoever the ghost used to be.

* * *

He gets a text an hour later.

Natasha: No warning needed. I'm not your keeper.

Sam's stomach sinks at little. There's no hint that she misses him or even cares that he's gone. Casual sex, he reminds himself. That means no caring. On her side or his.

Sam: Don't know how long we'll be gone for. Is it all right if I text you while we're gone?

Natasha: You may. I may not answer or give satisfactory responses.

Sam: That's okay. It'll be nice to have someone to talk to that isn't my brother. Or an angel of the Lord. They're not always the best conversationalists.

Natasha doesn't reply. Sam's not too surprised.

* * *

They leave after lunch, with a copy of the list Bobby made. He's going to keep researching, update Sam with priority targets and anything new that comes up.

Right now, they're going after the ghost Sam had been researching into. He's up in North Dakota, and they don't make it all the way there, and when Dean pulls into a motel parking lot, the vacancy sign flickering, Sam realizes how much he hasn't missed this.

The hunting he'll do. He'll do it because it's what he knows how to do, because it's a way to make up for all the shit he's done, and on some level he actually likes it, but the motels and the crappy food and all the other stuff that comes with hunting he could do without.

"We should go to the bar," Dean says as they get settled in. "Hustle some pool, scare up some cash. We're going to need it."

Sam thinks about how they could be living at the Tower right now, working for SHIELD with actual salaries and with actual approval to do what they're doing. They could have better resources than the guns they'd inherited from their father, maybe even some back up.

He knows that dad and Dean have always been obsessed with the Winchester way, doing it alone because you can't trust anyone else, but they've all died thanks to the Winchester way. Sam and Dean have been lucky enough that they've come back from death, but that's not always going to be the case. Accepting some help wouldn't be a bad thing.

But this is Dean, and Dean can't accept help, not even from his brother so Sam's not sure why he thought he'd take it from SHIELD. Sam gets a lecture on charity and then has to endure a dig about the shirts he wears and then they're finally off to the bar, and Sam's free to text Natasha.

Sam: My brother is an idiot

Natasha: I know

Sam smiles, despite himself.

Sam: We're on our way to hustle pool, because he wants to prove that he can take care of himself.

Natasha: Independence isn't a bad thing.

Sam: But you've managed to be independent and still work for SHIELD. He thinks those are mutually exclusive. Maybe you could talk to him.

Natasha: I doubt it would be effective.

Sam stares at his phone for a minute, trying to figure out how to respond to that. It's a conversation ender, but he doesn't want to stop talking to her. Is that too clingy? Maybe he's getting too attached. Maybe he should just slip his phone into his pocket and be done talking to her for the night.

Natasha: I've had to make compromises. I'm not fully independent. I have a team that I rely on now and that relies on me.

It's the most she's ever said about herself, and Sam just gapes at his phone until they pull into the bar parking lot.

* * *

They're almost out of South Dakota when they stumble upon a nasty spirit and even though it means they're going to cut it close getting to the ghost in North Dakota, they stop to fight it.

They get beat up, but it isn't the worst hunt they've had, and Dean lets Sam have first shower. Sam showers quickly, just wanting to get the dirt and grime off so he can go to sleep clean, but Dean's still asleep when Sam gets out of the shower, and he's clutching his phone to his chest.

Sam shakes his head, because Dean clearly cares about Clint. He cares enough about him to keep him a secret from Sam, enough to actually admit out loud that he loves him. Sam doesn't understand why Dean can't at least give living with him a chance.

Of course, Sam's never understood Dean. He's willing to die for anyone close to him, but afraid to say things like _I care about you_ or _I love you_.

Sam pulls the comforter off his bed and drapes it over his brother, because Dean hadn't even bothered to get under his blankets before falling asleep.

* * *

Sam wakes up, panic caught in his throat, his body sore and aching from being tossed around, and he bolts straight up.

Dean's still sleeping, now burrowed under the blanket Sam had draped over him and seeing Dean reminds Sam that he's safe. They defeated the spirit, and he's in a motel room with his brother, and they both have weapons in easy reach and nothing's going to hurt him here.

He takes a deep breath and lies back down to get another hour or two of sleep.

* * *

Dean's off scouring Linton, North Dakota for pie that meets his standards when Sam gets a call from an unknown number.

"Hello?"

"Sam Winchester," Agent Coulson says, his voice as composed and bland as usual.

"Uh yeah." Sam doesn't know what he's done to get a call from SHIELD. Are Sam and Dean in trouble? Does Coulson want Sam to spy on his brother? They have to know that Sam will never do that.

"Are you bored?"

Is he bored? What kind of question is that? "Yes but if you ask me what I'm wearing I'm going to hang up on you."

"Nothing of the sort," Coulson says and Sam swears he hears a smile in the man's voice. "Are you near your computer? I have work for you. Unless you're also concerned about being a SHIELD employee."

"What kind of work?" Sam asks but he's already waking his computer up.

"I have an idea for a supernatural database," Coulson says, "but I'm going to need a supernatural expert, and someone who's good with computers."

"I'm both of those."

This time Coulson's definitely laughing at him. "Yes, that's why you were my first choice."

First choice? Sam's never been anyone's first choice, and he hasn't been anyone's choice period in a long time. Who wanted a hunter tainted by demon blood? Even Dean had gotten angry with him, threatened to leave him, and he and Dean were supposed to take on the world together.

"You still there?" Coulson asks.

"Yeah," San answers quickly. "Yeah, I'm here. What do you need me to do?"

* * *

Getting the assignment is the one thing that keeps Sam from going out of his mind. He'd been coming up with plans to drug Dean and drive them back to New York and dreaming about punching his stupid brother in the face, because they're too old to be spending all day crammed into a car, but having something to do grounds Sam.

He researches at night, tries to organize his notes while they're in the car and then Cas returns from the tower, puzzled because he's been given a smartphone, and he didn't realize phones could have intelligence, and suddenly Sam has access to everything right there on his phone and the car becomes less unbearable.

Having a sense of purpose doesn't really help all that much when they meet Jack, and he accuses Sam of being a demon pet. Sam doesn't think anything can help, because it's true. His entire life has been planned by Azazel from conception to finish, and so far they've managed to keep Sam from becoming Lucifer's vessel, but they don't know that Lucifer's going to quit, and Sam's done enough stupid shit to feel guilty about for the rest of his life.

He's drank demon blood. He's let that corruption inside of him. He thought he could control it, that he could take what he needed to fight, to kill demons and save humans, and everything would be fine. Dean had told him over and over not to trust demons but Sam ignored him, because Sam's spent his entire life trying to measure up to Dean, to be as good as him, and finally he was better than Dean even because he could extinguish demons.

All it took was a little blood.

And it would let him defeat Lillith which was their goal.

It had been a trap. Of course it had. And, yet again, Dean was right and Sam was the stupid little brother.

He's the tainted brother. Dean's the Righteous Man, the one who saved them all, and Sam's the kid who got high on demon blood. Most hunters seem to think he's the anti-Christ and want him dead. He can't blame them. He is Lucifer's true vessel after all.

Except, he does blame them. Technically, Dean's the one who started the apocalypse, and Sam may have been an idiot about Ruby, and he may have fucked up with the whole blood thing, but when Dean showed him he was wrong, Sam changed.

He fought at Dean's side, and the two of them, and Cas and Bobby, prevented the apocalypse and doesn't that count for something? Anything? He saved the world from demons and then he saved the world from aliens, and hunters still look at him like he's the scum of the Earth.

Deep down, Sam thinks Dean looks at him that way too.

Cas appears in the middle of Sam's pity party, and he arrives in a flutter of feathers that can't be seen, because they would burn everyone's eyes out, and he stares Jack down, not even bothering to notice the guns, because guns can't hurt him, and he tells the hunter that he better back off Sam.

So Sam's paraphrasing. But the point remains, an angel thinks he's worth defending, and that's enough to put a smile on his face.

Getting to show off the website he's building; the directory of information, the exorcisms, well, that goes a long way to making him feel better as well.

* * *

Sam's the one who suggests they poke around every town they stop at, just to see if there are any local legends that need to be taken care of. Dean goes along with the plan, because the first two towns they stay over in, they do their intel gathering a local diners.

When they get to the third town, Sam's legs ache from being crunched into the Impala, and he wants to do something besides sit and drive so he proposes a trip to the library.

Sam's not sure how he gets Dean to agree to this, but soon they're at the library, and Dean's off to check recent newspapers for anything odd, and Sam's going to hit the archives, see if he can dig up any hints at reoccurring tragedies.

He's browsing a town history when a young woman with a bright smile and _Family Law_ textbook passes him by.

"You a law student?" Sam asks before he remembers that he's supposed to be studying and not getting distracted. Only, his company lately has been an angel of the Lord, when he's not with Steve or Heaven, and his brother. Sam misses normal human conversation. He misses talking with words instead of grunts and insults.

The girl pauses and turns to him. "Yeah. I'm a 2L. Interested in family law." She looks at the book and blushes. "I guess that's obvious. You a student around here?"

"Nah. I got into Stanford Law but," Sam pauses and remembers why he doesn't talk to normal people. He's not normal. His life isn't normal. He didn't go to school, because his girlfriend got burned up by the demon that killed his mom and then Sam got dragged into looking for his father and then Dean died a couple times, dad died, Dean came back, Dean went to hell, apocalypse, and yeah.

Sam smiles, hopes it covers for the awkward silence. "My brother wanted to go on this cross country road trip. Soul searching or something. He dragged me along." It's a lie but it's as close to the truth as he can tell her. "Figured law school could wait." Forever, Sam thinks. Law school is too tied up with Jess and Sam's old life. That had been his dream when he was kid that thought he could have a wife and a 9-5 and maybe even some kids of his own.

Now he's a pawn in the great war between heaven and hell, and he's having sex with an assassin, because she has the best shot at defending herself if she gets dragged into Sam's other life. No wife baking cookies or white picket fence in this future.

"So you're just passing through?" Elise asks and she looks disappointed, and Sam should smile and say something flirty or conciliatory, but he doesn't have it in him. Elise, with her high ponytail and toothpaste smile and pretty but not practical high waisted skirt and blouse is the kind of girl Stanford Sam would like, and he's not that kid anymore.

"Probably. We're not really on a schedule or anything. We're looking to see if there's anything interesting around worth taking a look at." Sam holds up the town history as proof.

"Oh." Elise nibbles on her bottom lip, thoughtful. "Nothing interesting really ever happens around here. Well, Mikey did beat Terrance up the other day. Completely unprovoked! Terrence and Marcy and I were just hanging out at Starbucks, doing some cramming, you know, and then Mikey shows up out of nowhere and socks Terrence across the face."

Elise shakes her head. "Absolutely wild. Mikey used to be a nice boy, you know, and then he met Charlotte and everything just started going downhill. Well, it seemed good at first, because he used to be really scrawny and shy and then the summer happened and when we got back to classes, he was built and outgoing and kind of hot."

Elise looks vaguely embarrassed by this confession. Sam wonders how he can get himself out of this conversation.

"Anyways, Terrence was dating Charlotte but then he cheated on her and that's how she ended up with Mikey, and I think that's why Mikey punched him, but I'm not sure. Ooh, I wonder if Mikey's going to punch someone else soon. Lots of people have cheated on Charlotte."

Elise doesn't seem too upset by this. "I'm surprised she managed to get three different guys to date her. She's not exactly a catch, you know? Not that I'm glad they cheated on her," Elise assures Sam, "I hope Mikey doesn't. I mean, he's way out of her league, but they seem happy, and sometimes things like that happen, right?"

"Uh," Sam says intelligently and then Dean and Cas show up and Sam thinks he's been saved.

And then he finds out that Charlotte is probably a witch.

* * *

When Sam gets to the party, Elise hands him a glass of wine, and she smiles at him, and Dean stalks off, movements jerky enough that Sam knows he's pissed, but Sam attributes it to the fact that he's clearly missing Clint and too in denial to admit it to himself.

Sam smiles at Elise and listens to her chatter about her classes and her professors, and they move into the living room, and she's standing too close for people that have just met, but Sam doesn't back off or dissuade her, because for a few moments at least, he can pretend that this is his life.

He's at a classmate's house, and he knows everyone here, and they're casually sipping wine and laughing and talking, and on Monday he's going to go to class, and he's studying to become a prosecutor, because he still wants to help people and put a stop to evil, but he wants to do it legally.

Elise is a close friend or maybe a girl he has a crush, and they're going to dance around each other for a month or two and then they'll fall into dating and then five years down the road, Sam will be the assistant DA, and Elise will be a child advocate, and maybe in another two or three years they'll have their first kid, and Dean will stop by every six months or so and spoil the kid rotten.

Sam's happy little fantasy is shattered by some crazy chick running by and yanking out a handful of his hair.

Of course it's the witch.

Of course she decides to cast the spell on him.

Of course it's a lust spell.

Cas touches his fingers to Sam's forehead and everything goes dark.

* * *

Sam wakes up flushed, aching, and he doesn't understand how, because he doesn't even remember having any X-rated dreams.

He wraps his hand around his dick, because he's woken up with morning wood before, and he'll just deal with it and go back to sleep.

There's a buzzing underneath his skin that gets worse the more he works himself, and his skin is getting hotter and hotter, and he feels like he's going to burn up, and he moves his hand faster, but it isn't enough, he needs more, and he calls on every fantasy he's ever had.

Desire twists in his gut, and he groans and squeezes his fist, and he can tell he's getting close, because his muscles have started to tense, and he's right on the edge, and then he spills over, coming with a sharp gasp, and he sinks back against his pillows, breathing heavy and—not sated?

Sam's skin is flushed and sweaty, and his chest is speckled with come, but his cock is already hardening again in his hand.

That's not how his body works.

"Interesting," Natasha says, and Sam startles and looks up and—what the hell?

He's in Natasha's bedroom, on her bed, and he'd just accidently jerked off in front of her. She's perched in her desk chair, watching him, and he feels a blush creep up his cheeks as he realizes she'd probably been watching him a couple seconds ago too.

"Uh," is all he manages to say, because her hair is loose and framing her face, and her lips are full and curved into a teasing smile, and he wants.

He groans and looks up at the ceiling, because he shouldn't feel like this so soon. Lust spell, his mind helpfully reminds him.

"Whatever happened to you affected the angel too," Natasha says, unfolding herself from her chair. Sam watches her move, transfixed, because she's graceful, but every movement is with intent, nothing wasted, and she's coming straight towards him. "He asked me to look after you."

"Look after me?" Sam asks, and his voice is deep, too deep, and he's asking if she's actually going to look after him or _look_ after him, but then she's dropping to all fours on the bed and sliding towards him, and yeah, question answered.

She knocks his hand away, replacing it with her own, and her hands are smaller than his, and she has different calluses, but she's just as sure as she starts stroking him. She knows just how to pull to make him groan, how to twist to make him gasp, how to draw it out so his body is quaking, and he wants to beg.

She knows how to keep him on the edge, how to reduce him to a ball of _needwantplease_, and she does it without guilt, without mercy, and she watches his face intently as she does it. She stays back, knees straddling his legs, too far away for him to touch, except if he tries to cover her hand with his, to encourage her, but he only tries that once because she slaps his hand away.

He comes with a soft cry, staring into her eyes, and to his horror, his cock starts to swell again, almost immediately. His skin is too hot, too sensitive, and it hurts as she pulls away, her fingers grazing his skin. Having no stimulation hurts even more, and he whines, a pathetic needy sound that she takes pity on.

She leans over and licks at him, and he pants and needs but it hurts and he tries to twist away, tries to twist into her mouth, because he doesn't know what he wants and she just pins his hips to the bed and does what she wants, regardless of the sounds he's making or what he thinks he needs.

At some point, he passes out.

* * *

Sam wakes up with a pounding head and an unpleasant soreness between his legs. As he looks around him, yesterday comes back to him in a rush, and he feels an almost overwhelming sense of humiliation as well.

His clothes are scattered on the ground and Natasha's mingle with his, and she's not in bed with him, but he can hear the shower which means she's awake. He wonders if he can pretend to be asleep and avoid what's going to be an awkward conversation for a least a little bit longer.

He's been attacked with a lust spell, and she'd wrung orgasm after orgasm out of him until he'd passed out.

He hears the shower turn off, and he throws the blanket over his head and closes his eyes.

"I know you're not asleep," Natasha says when she emerges from the bathroom. "And your shame is unnecessary."

Sam pulls the blanket down to peek at her. She's naked, completely comfortable, and rummaging through her drawers for clothes. Sam's cock twitches, interested, but it hurts, and he's glad when she starts pulling clothes on.

"You were harmed during a mission," Natasha says. "I took care of you."

She pulls her hair into a ponytail and just like that, the conversation is done. Sam hasn't had to say anything, and he's not sure he understand what just happened, but she's out the door before he can call her back.

They'd had sex. Multiple times. Well, mostly he'd gotten off. His memory's kind of fuzzy. He's not sure if he reciprocated. He wonders if she'll kill him if he offers now. But what had she said? She took care of him? That's the most emotion he's seen her display towards him since they've met. It almost approached caring. Had she been worried about him?

He realizes that he smells like layers of sweat and semen and that her worry about him hadn't extended to cleaning him up. He's in desperate need of a shower. Thinking can come later.

* * *

In the time it takes Sam to shower, his body realizes that in addition to being chafed and sore in places he'd rather not be chafed and sore, it's starving. He supposes that magic and marathon sex probably work up quite the appetite, and eats a bowl of cereal while he's waiting for his bagel to toast and he eats a cream cheese laden bagel while he cooks eggs, and by the time he's eating eggs mixed with cheese and ham he's starting to feel better.

And that's when he realizes something's wrong.

Dean's not here.

"You are awake," Cas says, entering the kitchen. He doesn't meet Sam's eyes which is odd, because Cas has a habit of looking too much into people's eyes. "You seem to be well."

"Yeah," Sam says, blushing and Cas continues to not meet his eyes and Sam realizes that Cas is embarrassed. He vaguely remembers the spell having some sort of effect on Cas, and Cas is embarrassed by it. Well, that makes two of them, and Sam suddenly feels a bit better.

"Dean still sleeping?"

Cas meets Sam's eyes now, and it's just as awkward as Sam remembers. "Dean was dealing with the witch. He has not contact me to tell me where he is."

"What?" Dean's somewhere by himself? After taking on a witch on his own? Is he alive? Is he dying? Is he okay? Sam sprints to Natasha's room to grab his phone.

Dean doesn't pick up. Sam curses and tries again.

"Damn it," he says as he comes back into the kitchen. "Cas, are you up for some travel? Dean's not picking up his phone. He could be hurt. We'll start at the witch's house."

Sam's panic isn't abated by the sight of the burned out basement where the witch used to live. The evidence points to Dean beating her, but Dean's missing, and Sam should've been here. He shouldn't have let himself get whammied by a witch. He'd known they were dealing with a witch, and he hadn't kept his wits about him. He let her saunter up and steal his hair, and if anything's happened to Dean then it's his fault.

He calls Bobby as they watch the police tape off the building so they can investigate the source of the fire.

"It's too damn early for phone calls," Bobby grumbles.

"Have you heard from Dean?"

"Shit," Bobby says, suddenly all business. "He's missing?"

"Took on a witch, and it looks like he got her, but he's not answering his phone."

"I haven't heard," Bobby says.

Sam takes a deep breath, wills himself not to have a full breakdown. "Will you keep calling him? Maybe he's asleep or something. Cas and I are going to see if we can pick up his trail, track him down."

"He's fine," Bobby says, but he sounds too worried for Sam to completely believe him.

* * *

Sam is pissed when Bobby calls him to tell him that Dean's passed out at some motel, because he drank too much in his post-hunt celebration. It's why he throws the door open without regards to the light that streams in or the noise, and he takes a vicious bit of pleasure in the way Dean whines and curls away from the light.

And then the stench of beer and sweat and piss hits him, and he looks around the room at the half-crushed beer cans that have been tossed about, and Sam wants to grab Dean and shake some sense into him, but he's afraid Dean will puke on him if that happens so instead he says, "Wow, this is disgusting."

He looks over at Cas, and Cas's face is as blank as ever, but his head is tilted just the tiniest bits as if he's trying to puzzle out some secret of humanity here, and Sam wants to hustle him out before he thinks that this revolting mess is something he should try and emulate.

Sam is the one who was an addict, but he's been cleansed of his addiction, and he still has the guilt from it, but he's recovering. Dean went to hell, and Sam's positive that he remembers, and even more positive that he's not recovering, but he doesn't know what he can do to help.

* * *

One of the positives of Dean being sick is that Sam gets to drive, which means one, he gets to drive and two, he gets to pick the music. He considers being a jerk and blasting heavy metal just to torment Dean's headache, but then Cas hands him a cassette and Sam pops it in and they listen to Frank Sinatra.

It's slow and soothing and probably something that's never been played in the Impala before.

"You really like him," Sam says as they drive.

"I do. Humanity fascinates me."

"I guess you can't get a better example of humanity than Captain America." Sam's glad that Cas has finally met humans outside of Sam and Dean, because they have a slew of issues, and they're definitely not good examples of humanity, and Cas deserves to see that he's fighting for people worth saving. Captain America's definitely worth saving.

"Every human is unique, and every human has been created by my Father which makes them worth saving."

"Mind reading is creepy," Sam says.

"Steve finds it unsettling at times as well."

There's a long pause before Cas turns to Sam and says, "I believe it is now appropriate for me to inquire after your romantic attachment. How is Natasha?"

Sam shrugs. "She's fine." He's not sure she's ever anything other than fine. She'd helped him through the curse and then had gone to work and Sam had gone to find Dean. He's not sure she's a relationship kind of person and even if she was, Sam's all over the country and she's all over the world and it would never work.

"When Dean says he is fine, he is often not fine," Cas says. "Does this mean something ails Natasha?"

"No, she's just fine. I dunno, man. I don't really know her. Didn't really have the time."

"Oh." Cas considers this. "Would you like to come with me to the tower at night? You will be able to stay with her and get to know her."

It's a nice offer, but Sam can't leave Dean alone. He wouldn't have left him for a girl before this morning, and he's certainly not going to leave him now that he's seen how Dean handles being alone.

He really hopes Dean gets his act together and heads back to Manhattan soon. It's exhausting being on 24/7 brother watch, and Dean's bitchy without Clint around to knock some sense into him.

"I've got to stick with Dean," Sam says.

"Ah." Cas sounds enlightened. "Bros before hoes, yes?"

"No. 100% no. I don't know who told you that, but you don't call women hoes. It's impolite. And if you ever call Natasha that to her face she'll probably kill you."

"Oh." Cas looks chastised. "I apologize. I heard it on the television."

"Rule number one," Sam says, "the television lies."

* * *

Dean wakes up, and they manage to have about two seconds of normal conversation and then Dean goes and says, "Why? It's not like you guys did anything," and Sam's reminded of just how useless he is. How useless he always is.

He'd been a baby, too young to protect mom, and then he'd been a little kid and Dean had to take care of him all the time, and then he was in college, and he was managing to take care of himself but he failed to help Jess and then it was Sam and Dean on the road and Sam was letting Dean down at every turn.

Sam the failure. Sam the kid brother who could never do anything right. Sam the screw-up.

He slams on the accelerator so hard that Cas's seatbelt locks.

* * *

Sam doesn't talk to Dean for the rest of the day. They drive in silence and then Sam pulls through a drive thru for dinner, and he books them the shittiest motel room he can find, and he's half-tempted to disappear with Cas back to the tower, but Cas doesn't leave as soon as they arrive.

Dean tosses the remote at Sam, harder than necessary, and he goes outside to sulk and Cas follows him.

His brother and his angel, Sam thinks turning the TV on. He wonders why he drew the short straw, why he's the one followed by demons while Dean's followed by angels.

He's been down the why road before, and it ends in insanity so he pulls out his phone.

Sam: Found Dean. He drank himself into a stupor last night, because he's an idiot

Sam: He's also a jerk

Sam: There's nothing good to watch on TV

Sam: Cas and Dean are having a moment, and I've got a guy on the History channel prattling on about aliens

Half an hour later, Natasha texts him her Netflix account information, and he's not sure if it's a gift or if she wants him to stop texting her, but he opens up his laptop, and starts watching Doctor Who from the very beginning, because he has a feeling this road trip is going to be long enough for him to work through all 11 Doctors. They'll probably be on 12 by the time they're done. The third season of Sherlock will be out by the time they're back in Manhattan.

Sam laughs at his joke, and the sound is swallowed up by the empty room, and he feels so painfully alone all of a sudden that he pulls his phone out again.

Sam: This road trip is going to take so long, Season 3 of Sherlock will be aired before we get home

Natasha: I enjoyed that show. Sherlock and Moriarty were both relatable characters.

Sam thinks he should probably be afraid that his possibly-girlfriend relates to a sociopath and a mass murderer.

Sam: They're both brilliant and know how to use people to their advantage. I think John's a positive influence on Sherlock. Moriarty would've benefitted from someone like John.

Natasha: John acts as Sherlock's conscience. Sometimes those are a burden.

Sam's conscience is what keeps him awake at night, tormenting him over what he's done, about how deeply he's hurt Dean, about how he's a demon child, about how he's Lucifer's vessel. It's also what keeps him from going out and finding the closest demon and bleeding it so he can turn himself into a demon killer.

Sam: Sometimes. Sometimes we need them.

Natasha doesn't respond. Given that she'd told him a fairly personal piece of information, Sam understands. He watches two episodes of Doctor Who and then goes to bed. Dean still hasn't come back inside.

* * *

Sam and Dean fall into their usual hunting routine; bickering with each other, doing the job, having full blown fights followed by days of silence then a truce where they agree not to talk about what sparked the fight which stops the fight but doesn't solve any problems.

Cas pops in and out, and Sam continues to text Natasha, and he texts her more than she texts him, and usually it's stuff like 'corn fields are boring' or 'Cas is staring again' or 'I would love some fresh fruit' but sometimes it's deeper, and sometimes they have real conversations and sometimes she even tells him something personal.

She usually doesn't text him for a day or two after a revelation, but Sam stops freaking out about that after the second time.

Three months into their road trip, Dean decides to head back to Manhattan.

About freaking time.

Sam texts Natasha as soon as he finds out.

Sam: We're headed back to the Tower!

Sam: A real bed!

Sam: Real food!

Sam: Exercise!

Sam: Consistent internet!

It takes two hours but he gets a text back.

Natasha: Do you have a specific bed in mind?

It's a question, but Sam's not sure if it's an invitation. He spends a good twenty minutes staring at the text, coming up with possible answers and possible scenarios and working himself into a full blown panic.

Finally he replies.

Sam: Yours?

Natasha: I'll leave the door unlocked.

Sam punches his fist in the air and ignores the look Dean gives him.

* * *

They get back to the Tower, and Sam doesn't really think about it, he just goes straight to Natasha's room and unpacks, finding a couple drawers to inhabit and putting his toothbrush in the holder next to hers and resting his stick of deodorant behind hers.

He falls asleep before she gets back from wherever she is, and he wakes up holding a pillow instead of curled around her, and he tries not to feel disappointed. Instead, he gets out of bed and shuffles to the bathroom to splash some water on his face.

Natasha's there, and she looks at his toothbrush and then over at him, and Sam knows the look means something, but he's too tired to deal with codes and body language.

"It makes more sense than walking back to my suite to brush my teeth," he says, proud of the number of words he's been able to string together. He's not sure if that's the answer she's looking for, and if it's not then she'll actually have to ask the question.

"You put it in my toothbrush holder."

Sam's sure there's something important being said, but he's missing it, because of course he put it in the toothbrush holder. That's where toothbrushes go. So he says, "That's where toothbrushes go."

Natasha's eyes narrow which could mean she's angry, and it could mean she's confused. Has Sam mentioned that it's way too early for this?

"That's where my toothbrush goes. Clint's the only person who puts his toothbrush next to mine and that's only on missions."

Sam pauses, toothbrush almost to his mouth. "Would you like me to put it somewhere else?"

Natasha's eyes narrow further, and Sam's pretty sure this is the 'you're an idiot' look. "I'm making observations. If I wanted you to do something, I would tell you."

Sam knows that so he just nods and brushes his teeth and wonders what the point of those observations were, because he also knows that Natasha doesn't talk without reason. Everything she says or texts is working towards some goal or objective.

Sam rinses and spits, and Natasha's still standing there next to him which he thinks is weird since she couldn't even stay in bed with him until he woke up.

"Did you do anything like this with Clint?" Sam waves his hand between them in a vague gesture.

"No." Natasha's turning like she's going to brush by him and put an end to the conversation but then she pauses. "Clint saved my life. What we have is hard to explain."

She leaves Sam with toothpaste foam still on his mouth and more understanding than she'd probably intended. She and Clint aren't hard to explain. He gave her a second chance, and she trusts him. As far as Sam's been able to glean, she only trusts Clint, and she trusts Coulson to the extent that she trusts Clint's judgment of Coulson.

And now, Sam thinks, staring at their toothbrushes, nestled side by side in the toothbrush holder, she also trusts Sam.

* * *

Sam doesn't come out and ask Natasha 'do you trust me', because, despite Dean's complaining, Sam does not always need to hash out every single detail of a relationship.

Sam doesn't have the best track record with the truth, and he knows that Dean continues to trust him, even though Sam's taken that trust and abused it, flayed it until it's in bleeding tatters, and Sam doesn't deserve Dean's forgiveness, and he certainly doesn't deserve to have his toothbrush next to Natasha's.

Sam's a danger to himself, he's a danger to others (he's so bad Heaven put a hit out on him), and he knows that physically Natasha can handle the danger that comes from being around Sam. He has no doubt that she could be the first person to kill a demon with her bare hands, and she knows the basics of dealing with the supernatural. It's the emotional danger Sam's worried about.

He's twisted and mangled Dean's feelings to the point where Dean shouldn't love him anymore but he does, because Dean's as messed up as Sam is. And Sam did something (he still doesn't know what) so colossally fucked up that his own father sent him out of the room when he was going to die, and they never said goodbye. Just 'go get some coffee, son, don't worry, I'll have Dean by my side when I die, because Dean's always been the better son'.

Anyway, Sam's instated a truth rule around Natasha. It's pretty basic. He always tells her the truth. He doesn't always tell her everything, but what comes out of his mouth is the truth, and he has no idea if she knows, but it doesn't matter. He's doing this because he doesn't want to mess up whatever is happening between them.

It's his first sign that he's in deep shit, because he shouldn't be worried about ruining what he has with Natasha, except he is, because somehow awesome sex has translated to awesome sex but also brushing teeth side by side, and Sam making eggs while Natasha makes toast and sharing and all these little things that add up to relationship and that was never supposed to happen.

Sam shoves all this thoughts out of his head and leaves the suite—our suite, his mind supplies—because he needs to hit the gym. Dean is training a team, and Sam is working on the database, and the two of them aren't going to go out on hunts unless Bobby finds something major, and Sam's taking advantage of the down time to make himself into a better hunter.

He's been working out regularly, eating well, learning how to properly fight both hand-to-hand and with weapons, and he's even working on learning how to hold onto his weapons during a fight.

He goes to the gym in the tower, because he doesn't feel like making the trip to SHIELD, and Bruce is there when Sam gets down there. He's sitting cross legged on a yoga mat, doing some breathing thing, and Sam tries to be quiet as he heads over to the treadmill.

"You can join me," Bruce says, his eyes still closed. "Yoga's good for everyone. Improves flexibility, concentration, helps calm you down."

"You think I need to be calmed down?" Sam asks even as he grabs a yoga mat off the stack.

Bruce huffs out a small laugh. "You and your brother are a bit jumpy."

Comes from knowing what lives in the shadows, Sam thinks, and he lays his mat next to Bruce's.

"We'll start with the basics today. Some meditation, some of the easier poses."

* * *

Sam spends the next few mornings in the gym with Bruce. Natasha goes off on a mission, and it's weird to be sleeping by himself again, but he starts to put together a schedule and that helps him.

He does yoga with Bruce in the morning, they eat breakfast together, Sam works on the database until lunch, he reads for a bit, does an afternoon workout and then meanders into the living room to hang out with whoever.

He spends a lot of time checking his phone and pretending he's not disappointed when he doesn't have any texts waiting for him.

* * *

Sam sits on the couch in their suite with his computer propped on his lap as he scrolls through several blogs that claim to be experts on mermaids. He and Bobby are working together on the go-to supernatural guide that lists all known information on supernatural creatures as well as reasonably plausible speculations.

Sam's trying to figure out whether _The Little Mermaid_ counts as a valid source for mermaid information when he hears the turn of the doorknob. He twists to see the door pushed open and Natasha walks through, eyes glazed, shoulders slumped forward like she's sleep walking.

Sam sets his computer aside and gets to his feet. "Hey." He scrambles to his feet to help her with her bag, but before his fingers can close around the handle, she's in motion, and Sam has his back against the wall, Natasha's forearm pressed against his neck, holding him in place and choking off his air.

"You're not Clint."

"No," Sam gasps and he tries to relax, because he doesn't want to appear to be a danger, and he really doesn't want to fight her. She's exhausted and coming off a mission so he's reasonably sure he could get away from her, at least long enough to call for help, but he would have to hurt her, and he's not willing to do that. She knows him, even if she doesn't remember that yet. She knows him and she trusts him, and he hopes she realizes it before she chokes him.

She pulls back enough for Sam to drag in a desperately needed breath. "You're in my room."

"You let me."

Natasha leans in, her eyes peering into Sam's, stripping away his fear and his concern and all the other emotions flitting through them, until Sam's left open and vulnerable, and he has no idea what she sees there, but she eases back, and the tension slips out of her body.

She picks her bag and heads back into the bedroom. Sam follows behind her, unsure of what he should be doing, but feeling like he should be doing something.

She sets her bag down on the bed and starts taking out weapons, cleaning them in a way that reminds him of Dean. It's a familiar post-fight routine, and he knows better than to offer to help so instead he asks her if she wants him to run a bath. She doesn't look up, doesn't acknowledge that he's said anything so Sam leans against the wall and waits.

She's in a long sleeve shirt that's a size too big so she looks exceptionally small and fragile and the way her shoulders are hunched like she's curling in on herself isn't helping. Sam doesn't like that her arms are covered, because he can't see if she's been hurt, but the way that she puts most of her weight on her left leg makes him think something happened to the right.

He wants to go up to her and check, put his hands on her body and make sure she's okay, but she's cleaning her gun, and he doesn't want to get shot for startling her.

Once all the weapons have been taken care of and place, with great care, into the safe, Natasha pushes her bag off the bed. It seems to be too much movement too fast, because then she just stands at the base of her bed, staring down at the comforter and from where Sam's standing all he can see is the tight line of muscle in her neck.

He pushes off the wall so he can help her get ready for bed. His fingers close around the hem of her shirt, and she pushes him away, hard enough that Sam stumbles and almost falls over. He quickly holds his hands up in an 'I'm sorry, please don't hurt me gesture,' and makes a note that Natasha doesn't like to be helped when she's in this state.

Just in case it's something weird about clothing, she doesn't like people taking her clothes off or she doesn't like anyone being unclothed around her, Sam keeps his t-shirt and sweatpants on as he climbs into bed. He figures that if she needs him for something she'll ask, and as much as he'd like to be needed, to feel like he's helping someone, she's been doing just fine without him for years, so it's best for him to go to bed and keep out of the way.

Sam closes his eyes, but he opens them a minute later when Natasha slides in next to him. Her fingers fist in the fabric of his shirt, clinging tightly, almost desperately to him. Her head drops to his chest, her ear resting over his heart, and he watches her head rise and fall with each breath he takes, watches her hair slowly slide into her eyes, and he tentatively brings a hand up to trail down her back.

She tenses for a moment and then melts against him, her entire body going limp, relaxing completely, and he runs his hand up and down her back until first she, and then he, falls asleep.

* * *

When Sam wakes up he's alone, and he tries not to feel too disappointed. He pulls himself out of bed, notices that Natasha's bag has been taken care of, and stumbles into the bathroom for a wake-up shower.

He's stripping off his t-shirt and throwing it in the general direction of the laundry basket when he spies their toothbrushes. Natasha's is back, standing next to his in the ceramic holder. Sam grins and reaches out to touch them and then he realizes he's about to pet a toothbrush and he jumps into the shower.

* * *

Dean takes his fancy new SHIELD trained team on a demon hunt, and Sam doesn't know what to do. He can't concentrate on his research, and none of Bruce's meditation tricks are working, and what Sam really wants to do is fight and scream and shout, because his brother's replaced him.

It used to be the two of them, the Winchesters, and everyone in Heaven and Hell knew of them, but now it's Dean and his team, and Sam doesn't like it.

Natasha finds him in the gym and she raises an eyebrow when she sees him and then tosses him a padded helmet and a pair of boxing gloves.

She kicks his ass.

He puts up a decent fight, but she's better trained, and she's faster, and she doesn't pulls her punches, and she draws it out for a while, until he's panting and sweating, and then she takes him down.

She pins him to the mat with her hips, and she rips her gloves off, and she kisses him, biting at his lips, her hands gripping his shoulders, and he kisses her back and loses himself in the sheer physicality of it.

Later, after they've showered and put their clothes in the wash, she sits with him on the couch, Sam's head in her lap, her hands running through his hair.

"It'll be okay," she says. "People change partners, but it'll settle."

Sam wants to snap at her, because he doesn't want to talk about this, because it's too soon, because it hurts, and he doesn't want to hear that eventually everything will be fine, but he knows she's speaking from experience.

She and Clint used to be a team, but now there are the Avengers and so it's the six of them, and that's a hell of a change, and she has to share Clint with Dean and she has to share him with the Avengers and Coulson. He wonders how she copes.

And then he wonders if he's her coping method.

He tenses under her hands, because he wants to be more than that.

"Clint and I get lunch every Tuesday. We spar three times a week." Natasha continues to rub small circles in his hair. "On Saturdays we run together."

Sam gets what she's saying. Make time for each other. Don't let Dean create a whole new life without Sam in it. Sam doesn't plan on letting that happen. He think it's good that they're starting to get some space between them, but he doesn't want too much. He doesn't want to lose his brother.

"What if they're better than me? They have formal training." Sam's not worried that Dean will pick his team over Sam, because they're better trained. He's worried Dean will pick them, because he's tired of Sam's shit, because he's tired of being let down, because they're simply better.

"They aren't," Natasha says. She runs her hands through his hair one last time and then gives him a nudge. "I have to go into SHEILD."

Sam's just being left all over the place. He sits up so she can get out. "Have fun," he says and, in a moment of weakness, he leans in for a kiss.

It's a chaste kiss, a 'have fun at work, honey' kiss, and it's different from their usual kisses which preempt sex or at least some very heated making out, and when Natasha pulls back, she regards him for a moment like she's trying to figure out what just happened or like she's thinking about whether or not she wants to say something.

Finally, she turns and walks out.

* * *

Sam goes to visit Dean almost as soon as he gets back from his hunt, and he brings a beer as a peace offering, because Dean always drinks a few or two after hunts, but Dean's lounging on the couch in his suite with a fifth of whiskey.

"What the hell happened?" Sam asks, because it's mid-afternoon and hunt or no hunt way too early for Dean to be knocking back Jack Daniels.

"Successful hunt," Dean says, but he doesn't meet Sam's eyes, and there's no proud smile on his face. Dean's hunched over, like he's trying to hide something or protect himself.

"Guess you don't want this?" Sam asks, holding up the beer.

Dean raises his whiskey in response. Sam sits down on the far end of the couch, making sure to give Dean space. Something's clearly wrong and usually Sam would push until Dean snapped, but those kinds of fights lead to days of silence, and Sam can't afford that now.

It's not like they're in the Impala, stuck only with each other anymore. Then, Dean would have to snap out his snit and start talking again, but now there's a whole tower for Dean to lose himself in, and other people for him to talk to, and if he wants to ignore Sam then it would be easy for him to do so.

Sam pops the top off his beer. "What else is going on?"

Dean looks at him, incredulous, over the top of his drink. "You want to talk?"

Sam shrugs. "We could go get something to eat if you want."

"You're an idiot," Dean says, but it's with gruff affection. "I'm going to drink and then I'm going to watch some porn and then I'm probably going to sleep."

No time for Sam in his schedule. Sam sets his beer down. "Okay. Have fun."

* * *

Sam tries to give Dean space, he really does, but he doesn't get to see much of Dean these days, and he misses his brother so he makes up an excuse to go see his brother. He asks him for advice on what to do with his feelings about Natasha.

He'd half-expected Dean to laugh him out of the room. The other half of him figured Dean would switch the topic, and they'd talk about something meaningless for a while.

And then Dean actually gave him advice.

It was a little bit terrifying, and not extremely helpful, but Sam thinks that maybe he and Dean are making a breakthrough. They can now have real conversations. They can talk about Sam's feelings towards a woman and maybe next time they'll be able to talk about Dean's feelings towards Clint.

After Sam talks to Dean, he goes back to his room to think. He knows that he loves Natasha. He may not be ready to admit it to her, but he can admit it to himself. It was never supposed to happen, but it's happened, and he's not sure what to do about it.

She's not a feelings person, and she clearly likes to keep her distance, but he loves her, and he thinks she should know. He doesn't think telling her will be liking flipping a magic switch and suddenly she'll love him back, but maybe if he tells her then she'll think of him differently.

Or she'll never talk to him again.

Sam groans and hits his head against the wall. Maybe Dean's onto something with this whole refusal to think or talk about feelings.

* * *

The problem comes to a head with pizza which is totally unfair, because Sam likes pizza. It's one of his guilty pleasures, and he doesn't want pizza to be ruined for him.

Sam and Dean are fighting over what kind to get, because it's routine and familiar and what they do, even if they don't need to anymore, because they have enough money to buy a pizza for each of them.

Sam persists in fighting, not only because it means Dean's finally paying attention to him, but because he holds out a small amount of hope that he'll be able to get Dean to eat some vegetables.

And then Pepper joins the conversation, and she pulls Natasha in and then Tony's butting in and before Sam's really registered what's happening, he's gone from fighting with Dean to hearing Natasha say, "Love is for children," and he feels like he's been punched in the gut.

Everyone's attention shifts to Sam, and it's awkward because it's so obvious that they're waiting to see how he'll handle the news.

Sam's eyes flick up to Natasha's afraid of what he'll see in them, but she's regarding him coolly, objectively, one eyebrow raised like she's also waiting to see how he'll react.

Sam does his best to keep the pain off his face, because he doesn't want her to see how badly her words have affected him.

He knows that she's reserved, that she's had a tough life, but he's had a tough life too, and he's managed to find a way to keep loving people. Yeah, it's a small number, and since Ruby he's been having some trust issues, and some guilt issues that makes it hard for him to feel like it's okay for him to be loved or even for him to love anyone in return, but he loves Dean, and he loves Natasha, and the thought she'll never give him a chance is a little too much for him to handle thinking about right now, especially with seven sets of eyes on him.

"Guess I'm a child then," Sam says but he's taken too long to respond, he's shown his hand and even Tony's expression shifts into something too close to pity for Sam to feel comfortable. "I'm going to go make some Mac 'n' Cheese." That's something a child would do, right?

Sam argues with Dean and then storms off, but Dean ruins his exit by following him.

"Open this door this instant!" Dean bellows, pounding on the door. "I'll break it down. You know I can!"

"Why don't you try respecting my privacy!" Sam shouts back.

"You're being an idiot. Open the door!"

Sam opens the door, because he doesn't want Dean to actually break it down, and then he throws himself back down on the couch and crosses his arms over his chest, scowling at his brother. Sam doesn't want pity, especially not Dean's pity. He wants to be left alone so he can mope and get over it.

"We need to eat," Dean says, kicking the door shut. "Let's take the Impala and find a diner. It'll be like the good old days."

Sam huffs and looks away.

"Loser has to pay," Dean says and that's the only warning Sam gets before he's being tackled and shoved off the couch.

Dean puts up a good fight, but Sam's pretty sure he lets Sam win, because the fight is over faster than their wrestling matches usually take, but Sam just smirks before climbing off his brother.

"I win. You're paying."

Dean shrugs. "Just means I get to pick the place. First one to the car gets to pick the music!"

Dean doesn't go easy on Sam on that one, and Sam loses. Not that it would've mattered if he'd won. Dean never lets anyone listen to what they want in the Impala.

Sam's actually a little glad when Metallica starts blasting from the speakers, because he doesn't want to be babied. The familiar screaming, the familiar car, it lets him pretend that they're going on a hunt, like they're still the Winchester brothers with no SHIELD, no alien invasion, no apocalypse.

He finds himself missing that life. He wonders if maybe he should head down to Bobby's and hunt with him for a while. Dean has a team and doesn't need him, and Sam wants to hunt again, and if he works with Bobby then the supernatural directory will be done even faster. It's something to talk to Coulson about.

* * *

They eat lunch at a rustic diner where Dean complains about Sam's salad and Sam complains about the fried egg on Dean's burger, and they take a leisurely drive in the Impala, and when they get back to the tower, Sam's feeling better.

He's still not sure what to do with the knowledge that Natasha's apparently sworn off love, but getting some time away to actually think has been good for him. They've been doing fine together, love or no love, and there's no reason for anything to change.

It's not like he's admitted he loves her, and he's not even sure she'll run off if he does. Still, Sam's relieved when he finds the door unlocked when gets back to the suite. He checks the bathroom, even more relieved when he sees that his toothbrush is still there.

And then, feeling ridiculous and stupid, he goes back to his computer to do some more research.

He's on some nutter's blog, and the guy is talking about creatures that are human except when they're in the bath, and then they're these strange snake things, and Sam's pretty sure he's read a poem about these things, but these creatures aren't real and they're not mermaids.

He's about to close out when he sees a post at the top of the page, and there's a discussion about cross-species genetics which sounds plausible and piques his interest so Sam bookmarks the entry to look at later when he's not trying to finish his mermaid entry.

He's moved onto Merle's Mermaid Matchmaker which is pathetic, and he should really just move onto the next creature, when Natasha comes in. She's wearing spandex shorts and a thin tank top, and sweat has curled the few wisps of hair that have escaped her ponytail.

"You missed lunch," Natasha says.

"Dean and I went out. It was good to spend some time together."

Sam wonders if she feels as awkward as he does, if she realizes that they're dancing around the fact that she came out and said that their relationship is going to plateau pretty soon, and Sam doesn't know what will happen once they reach the point where she's unwilling or unable to give anymore.

Natasha slides her tank top off, revealing sweat slick skin, and Sam thinks he should feel guilty about wanting to forget about blogs and relationship worries, because why have sex with someone who isn't in it for the long haul?

But Natasha is hot, and she's stripping for him, and she has that simmering look in her eyes that says she's doing it on purpose, and Sam has to stifle his groan as she hooks her fingers in the elastic of her spandex and tugs it down, flashing the smooth jut of a hipbone and confirming that she doesn't wear anything underneath them.

Natasha tosses her sports bra aside and slinks over to Sam, straddling his lap, and Sam suddenly wishes he wasn't wearing so many clothes, especially as she presses tight against him, because he wants them to be skin to skin.

Her fingers curl into his shoulders, hard enough to leave bruises, but he doesn't care as he leans up and kisses her, because she's marking him, and it's a kind of declaration, a want for a least a kind of permanence, right?

He pushes the thought out of his mind and focuses on running his hands up and down her sides. Her skin is still slick with sweat, and he leans up to kiss her.

She likes to have sex after she works out; though, Sam thinks it's actually part of the workout, and he knows how she wants it as soon as she walks through the door. If she goes through a tough workout in the gym then she'll have tired herself out so Sam can take control, and he can pin her down and do what he wants.

If she's only worked up a light sweat, pulled her punches then she comes back and they fight and wrestle, and she ultimately wins, but really, Sam still wins, because she's beautiful when she orders him around, breathtaking when she grabs his hips or twists his head with a sharp pull of his hair.

Today's the kind of day where she wants to be fought, but where she'll ultimately win. Sam can feel himself getting hard at the thought of it, and he leans up to kiss her, but she grins and pulls back so his lips meet empty air.

Sam growls which only seems to amuse her further, and she presses a finger to his lips. He sucks it into his mouth, nipping at the pad of her finger, and she braces herself, knees on either side of his hips, finger against his mouth and her free hand drops between his legs.

She grips him hard, no mercy as she strokes him to full hardness.

He knows what she wants, what she needs without her having to say anything, and she knows how far she can push him, that he's willing to do almost anything to make her happy. Isn't that what love is? Can she love him without realizing it? Without admitting it? Can he be happy with that?

She squeezes him, just shy of painful, and all thought disappears out of his head.

* * *

Things proceed smoothly, more or less, after the pizza incident. Sam doesn't volunteer any information he thinks might scare Natasha off, and she either ignores it or doesn't realize how Sam feels so they continue in their routine of cohabitation and frequent sex.

And then Sam and Dean come back from their tousle with the Minotaur. It isn't Sam's first hunting trip since they moved in, but it's definitely the worst.

Sam comes back, beaten, battered, and bruised, and he leans against the door and tries to twist the handle, and finally it turns, and he uses his body weight to slide the door open, but then he almost falls on his face.

"It's all right," Natasha says, appearing by his side. She catches him under the arms, keeps him from falling. "I've got you."

Sam nods, and he thinks he's supposed to be angry with her, something about luck and frowny faces, but it's too much to think right now, and she's helping him so he lets her hold him up, and she kicks the door shut before guiding him into the bedroom.

"How did your hunt go?"

Sam smiles sleepily. "We fought a couple minotaurs which apparently was a warm-up for the big guy. _The_ Minotaur."

"Asterion?"

Sam grins and presses a sloppy kiss to Natasha cheek. She eases him down on the bed and stands between his legs, keeping him from tipping over.

"See, this is why I love you," Sam says. "Dean thinks mythology is stupid and a waste of time which is absolutely ridiculous since we often fight things from mythology and without it, I wouldn't have known that the only way to kill Asterion was with the sword of Aegeus, and thankfully Cas was with us so he could spirit away to Greece to get the sword, but he almost wasn't in time, because Asterion was pissed that we killed his sons and Dean, the idiot, was trying to distract him to buy us time, and almost got himself killed. Twice."

Sam's hands clutch at Natasha's arms to hold himself up. "It tried to eat him. It was squeezing the life out of him, and it was going to eat him, and there was nothing I could do. I was useless."

Sam's grip becomes desperate, and his shoulders start shaking, and Natasha makes a soothing noise as she pushes him down on the bed and starts stripping off his clothes.

"You're safe now," she says, and she rests her hand over the worst of Sam's bruises, a deep purple thing right below his rib cage. "I've got you."

"Yeah," Sam says and he's babbling, but that's what he does after hunts. He has to be quiet during hunts, has to keep everything bottled in, because they need quiet to sneak up on the monsters, and Dean thinks emotion is distracting, but Sam has to say it sometime so he says it now, when Natasha's helping him unwind, and she helps him get ready for bed, helps him get settled, but most of all, she listens.

"You've got me." Sam's hands stroked up and down her arms, almost in wonder, like he can't believe that she's here with him. "You're incredible, you know that? You are brilliant and beautiful and ruthless, and I wish I'd been an English major so I could tell you exactly how much I love you. I know that you don't like poetry that it's too flowery and the language obscures the meaning so maybe it's best that I'm direct, because that's what you like. You like direct and you like putting cream in your coffee even though you think it's superfluous and unnecessary and you like sparring without taping your hands, because you like feeling but you don't want Steve to worry over you so you always make sure you tape your hands and you like warm baths even though you don't indulge often because you think indulging makes you weak, and I really hope you like me, because I love you."

Natasha pauses as she finishes getting Sam's clothes on, and she stares at him for a long moment before pulling the comforter back.

Sam's eyebrows dip in confusion. "No shower?" He always showers before sleep, because he doesn't like going to sleep dirty, and he wants to wash the hunt off so he can wake up and feel clean and new, but Natasha doesn't help him stand, and he can't shower on his own.

"No shower," she says and Sam hesitantly slides under the covers.

"Will you sit with me until I sleep?"

Natasha sits down on the edge of the bed and lets Sam hold her hand, but as soon as he falls asleep she pulls back and goes down to the gym.

* * *

Sam wakes up alone. He wakes up dirty and hurting and confused and surrounded by cool sheets. He snaps his neck to the side, but there's no twin bed with the Dean-shaped lump. He's in a bedroom. He's in a bedroom, not a motel room, and he's alone. He shouldn't be alone. Why is he alone?

Sam groans as the slightest movement calls up protest from his muscles. He needs a hot shower, some anti-inflammatories, and he needs a long stretching session. He ignores the restless hum beneath his skin, the frantic skip of his heart that says something isn't right. He's a big boy, he can handle waking up alone.

He ignores the shaking in his limbs until it's too much to ignore, and he tells himself it's leftover shock from almost being killed by a mythological beast. All he needs is a shower and some food and he'll be fine.

* * *

By the time Sam's out of the shower, skin red because the water was way too hot, but Sam though the heat would stop the damn shivering, he's feeling an itch under his skin that makes him want to claw at his arms and chest until it stops.

He can't handle buttons or zippers or anything complicated so he pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and stumbles towards the communal kitchen. By the time he gets there he's trembling and sweating and somehow cold, and he suddenly has flashbacks to demon blood withdrawal (which had been miserable until Cas had helped him out).

Suddenly, Sam is on the floor, his cheek pressed against cold tile, and he's pretty sure he's crying, because his cheeks feel wet, but he's not quite sure what's going on.

_Cas_, Sam thinks, because he doesn't have the energy to shout for someone. _Please_.

A moment and a ruffle of wings later, there's a soothing hand running down the side of Sam's face, and he closes his eyes and relaxes into the touch. Cas's hand is warm and it's real, and Sam clings to it, his fingers wrapping around Cas's wrist like he's the only thing keeping Sam grounded. Sam's pretty sure that's not far from the truth.

"Sam," Cas says, voice grave, serious. "You called and I have come."

"Yeah." Sam's voice is a breathy whisper, and he feels himself starting to choke up from an influx of relief and gratitude. "Yeah, you did."

"Cas, what? Oh." Steve skids to a halt before he crashes into the refrigerator. He takes one look at Sam, lying on the floor, curled around Cas's body where he's kneeling next to him, and he goes from concerned boyfriend to concerned team leader in a matter of seconds. "I'll go find Dean."

Sam wants to protest, because he doesn't want to be treated like a baby. He isn't a baby, he's a grown man, and he doesn't need to be fussed over, and he doesn't need anyone to fetch his older brother, but he's still trembling, and talking seems like an awful lot of effort, and he'd much rather just let Cas hold him.

"Shit," Dean says and suddenly strong, familiar hands are gripping Sam's shoulders and hauling him up into a sitting position. "Shit, Sam. What happened?"

Part of Sam thinks he should be embarrassed that he's such a mess, but that's drowned out by the need thrumming through his body, the need to be in contact with another person, with someone familiar, a reassurance that he's okay, that everything's okay, that he can relax and not worry and—

"Hey," Dean says and then he's wrapping Sam up in a tight hug. "It's okay, buddy. It's going to be okay. I'm going to take you back to our room, okay? And I'm going to get you some breakfast, and everything's going to be okay."

"No!" Sam's fingers claw at Dean's chest, because he needs him to stay close. Dean can't leave. Why does everyone leave Sam when he needs them?

"Woah," Dean says. "Calm down. I'm not going anywhere. Someone will make you breakfast and bring it to us, okay? We're going to stand up now, but I need you to help. Can you do that?"

Sam nods and relaxes his grip minutely now that he realizes Dean isn't going anywhere. Somehow they manage to get on their feet, both wincing at lasting injuries from yesterday.

"I will ensure that Sam gets his egg white omelet," Cas says, laying his hand briefly on Dean's shoulder. "Green peppers, mushrooms, ham, and onions."

"Thanks, Cas." Dean wraps an arm around Sam's waist, and together they make slow progress back to the suite that neither of them have been using.

"You're filthy," Dean says as they make it through the door. "Didn't you shower last night?"

Sam shakes his head no.

"You always shower after a hunt." Dean frowns as he helps Sam sit down on the bed, making sure to keep a hand on Sam's shoulder.

Sam shrugs. "Couldn't do it on my own. Hurt too much. Natasha didn't help."

"I'm sorry," Dean says pulling Sam in for a hug. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there. I should've been there. I shouldn't have left you."

Dean squeezes Sam tight and then pulls back. "Okay, let's get you in the shower, get you clean, and when you get out, there'll be food for you. Sound good?"

"Very good."

Dean stands outside the shower curtain, talking, while Sam briefly showers. Sam has a hard time keeping up, because most of his energy is focused on staying standing and getting the worst of the dirt off, but the important thing is Dean's voice.

It's low and familiar and soothing, and it keeps Sam grounded. It reminds him that he's not alone, that he's protected, that he can relax and be at peace for a few moments.

He thinks he hears Dean say something about music and minotaurs and then something about mythology, and Dean's talking even though he doesn't like to talk, because Sam needs it, and Dean is always there when Sam truly needs him, and Sam wishes he was less needy so Dean could get a break from having to hold everyone together.

Sam stumbles out of the shower, and his face is wet, and he might be crying, but he's not sure and then Dean's there, wrapping a towel around him and bringing him into the bedroom.

He doesn't try to feed Sam which Sam is grateful for, but he does remind Sam to eat while telling a story about police officers that Sam vaguely remembers. And then the omelet is gone and Dean moves the plate away, and he helps Sam into a boxers and a pair of sweatpants, and Sam doesn't remember much after that.

He knows that he lies down on the bed, and he knows that Dean's there beside him, and Sam's finally able to relax and he gets sucked into sleep.

* * *

Sam feels something shift under him, and his eyes snap open, his body tensing, ready for danger.

Dean's fingers curl in his hair, a familiar touch, a reminder that Dean's here and Sam isn't alone, and he's protected while he sleeps.

And then everything that happened comes flooding back to him; collapsing on the floor, Cas, Captain America, how needy and clingy he's been, and he pulls away from Dean and doesn't meet his eyes, because once again Sam is the frail little brother that needs Dean to take care of him.

"Sorry," Sam says, because Dean has to be in rougher shape than Sam, and he's put that aside to take care of Sam. Again. He moves too quickly trying to get away and his back twinges, and Sam bites back a gasp of pain. "I should go do some yoga or something."

Maybe with Bruce. Maybe without. Either way, Sam could use both an opportunity to stretch and to clear his head.

"Yoga? Are you serious?" Dean asks.

His scorn is only half-hearted, but Sam doesn't feel like arguing so he flees the room as fast as he's able to. He runs into Clint in the hallway, and he flushes, because he's sure Clint had seen how pathetic Sam had been, and no wonder Dean had chosen to hang out with Clint over Sam.

Dean was probably tired of dragging around dead weight. He got himself a boyfriend who's a sniper and spy and master assassin, and he's got himself a team of professionals, and why would he want Sam? Sam who can't even handle the post-hunt?

Sam sighs and passes by the elevator, because his body might hurt, but he's going to take the stairs, damn it.

Two floors later, he's regretting that decision.

He has to lean all his weight on the railing to keep from collapsing, but his arms shake from the strain of holding himself up, and he still has ten floors left to go.

He steps off on this floor and gets into the elevator, jamming the button harder than necessary.

* * *

Sam gets to the gym and turns on some of Bruce's soothing Indian music. Sam doesn't understand the words, because he doesn't know the language, but the vocals and the soft beat of the drums help to ease some of the chaos in his head.

He sinks down onto a yoga mat and just breathes for a few moments, trying to find his center, before even attempting to meditate.

He spends a half hour trying to get his head clear and then he gives up and goes through his poses and stretches for an hour and a half. His body's feeling better at the end of it; though, he takes the elevator the whole way up to the floor he lives on.

He goes to Natasha's suite without thinking, and the door's locked. He tries not to read too much into it, but when he gets back to the Winchester suite, his duffel bag is sitting on his bed, all of his clothes neatly packed inside, and his toothbrush is alone in the bathroom, lying across the ceramic surface.

He doesn't have the energy left in him to cry or care or much of anything so he takes a long, hot shower to help ease his sore muscles and then he puts himself back on supernatural directory duty.

He's found some interesting information on the Melusine which some people consider to be the mother of mermaids and others believe to be a terrifying creature in its own right, and Sam decides to put her down as a footnote to mermaids and starts researching.

He also decides to read and translate the original French text for himself, because he doesn't trust other people's translations, especially when his life or another hunter's might end up depending on the information. Of course, the original source is a poem, and he can't find any evidence that the Melusine actually exists, but she might, and Sam owes it to his fellow hunters to do the most thorough research possible.

Sam blows Dean off when he comes by around dinner time, worried that Sam isn't eating enough, because Sam's doing work, and he doesn't need to be babied.

He'd hit a rough patch after the hunt, and he feels bad enough about it without Dean's constant reminders that Sam can't even do simple things for himself like eating.

So when Dean comes back the next morning with pancakes and tries to help Sam into bed, Sam snaps. He's not a child. If he wants to sleep in his bed then he can walk over to his bed and sleep. And if he's hungry, he can get himself food.

Dean doesn't need to do everything for him.

Sam tells him just that, with a few curse words thrown in and a comment about their father, and then Dean's storming off in the Impala, and Sam spends five hours worried that Dean's up and left for good or that he's gotten himself into a car accident and then Dean comes back, but he goes straight to his room and Sam doesn't follow.

He doesn't know what to say. Sorry. Sam's always saying sorry, and Dean never accepts his apologies anyways, and Sam's just tired. He's tired of always being wrong, and he's tired of Dean holding it against him even though he claims he doesn't.

* * *

And then Dean arranges a trip to Hershey Park. It's the kind of thing Sam and Dean never got to do as kids, but Sam's always secretly wanted to do.

He doesn't let the fact that Natasha's still not talking to him ruin it; instead, he spends the day with Dean, making stupid bets over who can win the most arcade games and daring each other to go on all the crazy rides, and everything's all right again. At the end of the night, Dean even hugs him.

Sam should've realized that meant something was wrong.

* * *

Sam wakes up and heads to the kitchen for food. There's no sign of Dean but Clint is there, and Sam's not used to seeing them separately these days.

"Where's Dean?" Sam asks, grabbing a yogurt from the fridge.

Clint stares at him, not moving not blinking for a long moment, and Sam wonders if the man's plotting all the different ways to kill him. The thought terrifies him. He knows he screwed up the other day. He said a lot of shit he shouldn't have, and he'd hurt Dean, and it makes sense for Dean's assassin boyfriend to want him dead, but Sam doesn't really want to die. Maybe he should head to Bobby's for a while. Maybe he should just move there.

Dean doesn't need him, and Sam's tired of tip toeing around people that could kill him in an instant and leave no evidence behind.

"Went to get crepes for breakfast," Clint says. He takes a drink of his orange juice.

"He what?" Sam laughs and shakes his head. "He must really like you. Well, obviously he does, but really, really like you."

Clint frowns, not understanding.

"Dean hates crepes. He calls them pretentious pancakes."

"He didn't go for me," Clint says. "He went for himself." Clint checks his watch, and the frown lines in his forehead deepen. "He's been gone too long for going to the café. It's been almost an hour."

Sam checks his phone. "Dean got up, voluntarily at 6am?" Something is definitely, very wrong. "Cas!" Sam shouts and tries to tell himself that he's overreacting, that everything's fine, that Dean's about to walk through the door and roll his eyes at them for worrying.

Cas appears in the kitchen a moment later. "You sound distressed."

"I think something's wrong with Dean. He's missing. Which normally wouldn't be a big deal, but he pretty much threw himself a goodbye party yesterday." Sam's stomach twists at the thought that that's actually what Dean did. Had he planned this? It explained the hug and the weird mood he'd been in.

What the hell is Dean doing?

"Coulson, I need the location of Dean's phone," Clint says, speaking into his cell phone. "No, this is an emergency."

Sam wants to snatch the phone away, yell at Coulson to make this happen faster, because Dean's missing, and Dean's known for doing stupid shit, and Sam will not let his brother die.

"New Jersey?" Clint asks. "What the hell is he doing in New Jersey?"

Sam rushes out to get the Colt, because he knows his brother, and Dean never does things halfway.

"You have an exact location?" Sam asks when he comes back to the kitchen.

Clint nods. "Yes. What should I get?"

Sam wants to tell him not to come, that Sam can handle this, that he and Dean have been looking out for each other for years, but he doesn't. Partly because he knows that Clint won't listen and partly because Sam has no idea what they're going up against.

"What do you have?"

Five minutes later, Cas has flown them to Hopatcong State Park. They're at the Impala which is surrounded by picnic tables and laughing families, and Sam searches for any sign of Dean.

Cas points towards an abandoned building. "There are demons here."

"Well shit," Sam says. They have the Colt and that's it. He pulls it out of his jacket and hands it over to Clint. "You're the sniper. I," Sam takes a deep breath, "I want Dean to get out of this alive. And I trust you to do that."

Clint nods and tucks the gun out of sight. "Do you have any other weapons that can affect demons?"

Sam gives Clint a smile he isn't feeling. "Cas and I are the distraction. It has to be a kill shot."

Clint flashes white, sharp teeth. "It always is."

* * *

Sam and Cas peer through a window and are just in time to see Alastair kill Crowley. Sam's relieved that they're down to one demon, but how did Dean end up taking on Crowley and Alastair on his own? Is he crazy? Suicidal?

"Oh no," Alastair says as he turns to where Dean is pinned against the wall. "I've lost my audience now, and I always perform best for an audience."

Sam throws the door open and steps through. "You need an audience?" he asks. Anger ripples under his skin; he's pissed at Dean for running off, pissed at Alastair for trying to kill his brother. "Well, you've got one."

Everything turns into a blur of movement after that. Dean starts talking and then Alastair is freezing Sam and Cas, and Sam think that they're all going to die now, and he wonders where Clint is, and if Alastair will sense he's coming, and then he thinks that at least if this is the end then Sam and Dean are going to die together.

No soul trades, no one having to soldier on without the other, just the two of them finally being able to be done with it all.

And then Alastair's falling to the ground, and the demon is being burned out of him, and Clint is jumping through the window, and it's over.

* * *

They bring Dean to medical and then Sam is forcibly removed by security. He thinks about pulling the Colt on them, but he doesn't want their only reliable weapon against demons to be taken away.

Of course, now that Alastair and Crowley are dead, the worst of the demons are gone. Everyone left can probably be killed by a knife. Still, best not to shoot people that are supposed to be his allies.

"He will recover," Cas says, because he's been relegated to the waiting room as well.

"He thought it was a good idea to take on the two most powerful demons in hell on his own. I'm not worried about some bruises he got from being tossed around. I'm worried about his mental state."

_You're the screwed up one so why don't you stop being so fucking selfless and fix yourself?_

Sam's worried that he's the one who's driven Dean to this. Dean who puts Sam first, protects him above all else even above Dean's own wellbeing, and Sam's repaid him by beating him down, by being ungrateful and making Dean think that there's something wrong with him.

Sam wonders if he's ever going to stop being a screw-up.

* * *

Dean promises that Sam had nothing to do with his decision to go after Alastair. It has to do with what happened in hell, which Dean still won't tell Sam about, but Sam doesn't completely believe him.

He leaves Dean to Clint's care, because he knows that Dean misses his boyfriend, and Clint's a better person than Dean is. And then Sam finds himself alone again, because Dean has Clint and Cas has Steve, and Sam still doesn't have Natasha.

Sam calls Bobby and then calls Coulson and then he packs a bag. He has Cas fly him to New Jersey so he can pick up the Impala, and he drives out to Sioux Falls. He can do research at Bobby's just as easily as he can at SHIELD, and he needs to get away from everything.

He needs to get away from Dean and the proof that Sam's a shit brother, and he needs to get away from Clint's judgment and Cas's pity and Natasha's silence. He needs to just be somewhere else.

Two days in the car help to clear his head. He drives until he needs gas and then he forces himself to eat something, and he stretches his legs, and he makes sure he's at a motel by 10pm so he can get some sleep, and he even manages to do a little research.

He gets to Bobby's mid-afternoon, and Bobby clearly isn't expecting him, because when Sam opens the door he's met with the barrel of a shotgun.

"The hell, Sam?" Bobby asks, lowering the weapon. "I almost shot you. You're early."

Sam tries to smile and fails. "Does that mean I don't get dinner?"

Bobby looks him up and down. "You look like shit, son."

"It was a long drive. And it's been a long few days. Dean almost died. Again." Sam gets as far as the living room and collapses on the couch. "I'm tired of thinking that I'm going to lose him. I'm tired of worrying every time he hugs me. I'm tired of panicking every time I haven't seen him for more than two hours."

"He can be an idiot," Bobby agrees. "Is that the only reason you've run away?"

Sam's immediate response is to protest and say that he's not running away, but he is. He's running away from his guilt because he's part of the reason Dean thought he had to confront Alastair, and he's running away from his problems with Natasha, he's running away from a life he's not ready for and that he's not cut out for.

"I'm done, Bobby." Sam drops his head to the couch cushion and closes his eyes. "I'm just done."

* * *

He must drift to sleep, because the next thing he knows he's waking up and it's dark and he's still on the couch, but he's lying down, and Bobby's covered him with a blanket. Sam wraps the blanket tighter around his shoulders and closes his eyes again.

* * *

The next time Sam wakes up the sun's starting to rise, and he showers and is in the middle of making breakfast when Bobby comes downstairs.

"You don't look dead anymore," Bobby says.

Sam takes it as the compliment it is and hands Bobby a plate of eggs and sausage. "You up to doing some research with me?"

"Not up to much else anymore," Bobby says.

* * *

After breakfast they sit at the large table in the living room, and Sam shares his information on the Melusine, and he's halfway through his explanation when he realizes that Bobby's just staring at him.

"French poetry?" Bobby asks, and there's pity in his eyes.

"Let's move on," Sam says. "What comes after mermaids?"

* * *

They fall into a nice routine. Sam wakes up early and he does his yoga and his meditation, and he does some pushups and crunches and when he hears Bobby moving around upstairs he starts breakfast.

They talk about their plans for the day while they eat and then they get to work. They take a break for lunch sometime between 11 and 1 and then they work for another hour or two before Bobby goes to take a nap, and Sam goes for a run and a more involved workout and then he showers and they hit the books again.

After dinner they settle down in front of the TV with a couple beers and watch some mindless TV.

Every once in a while, Sam gets a text from Dean, and Sam answers them and then he's left alone. Mostly Dean's worried about how Sam's holding up, but Sam's doing well. He's staying in shape, he's getting work done, and he doesn't think about Dean or Natasha or anything on his list of things to avoid thinking about.

* * *

"You ever hear of naga?" Sam asks. "Like actual sightings of them, not heard of them heard of them."

"It's a wonder I can understand you sometimes," Bobby says shaking his head. "I think I've heard of a sighting down in Florida. Nasty creatures."

"Awesome."

Sam starts researching in earnest, and he's halfway through what appears to be a truthful account of someone who had encountered the Naga when there's a knock at the front door.

Sam and Bobby exchange glances. They're not expecting anyone, and Dean would've just burst through the door.

Bobby reaches for his shotgun. Sam reaches for his knife, and they cautiously approach the door. Sam holds up three fingers and counts down. On one, he opens the door, and Bobby has his gun pointed at Natasha's head.

"Oh." Bobby relaxes, sounding almost disappointed.

Sam just stares. What is Natasha doing here? She's ignoring him, because Sam cares too much. She has no business coming out to Bobby's. Sam's been happy here. He's been enjoying being away from everything, and she's bringing everything with her.

"I'm busy," Sam says once he finds his voice.

Bobby slaps him upside the head. "Don't be rude, boy. Come in, you want something to eat?"

"Traitor," Sam mutters and then Bobby sends him to the kitchen to make sandwiches.

When Sam comes out, carefully balancing three plates and three beers, Natasha and Bobby are in a heated discussion over the best weapon to have when you live alone. Bobby's defending his shotgun, and Natasha's regarding him like he's an idiot.

"I have food," Sam says, awkwardly interrupting the conversation. He still doesn't know why Natasha's here, and he doesn't like how unsettled she can make him feel. Clearly he's not dealing as well as he thought he was. Maybe Bobby's right, maybe all Sam's doing is running away.

"Thank you." Natasha takes a plate and a beer and props her feet up on the table and digs in.

Bobby and Sam exchange shrugs and start eating. Sam drinks his entire beer before he's halfway through with his sandwich and he wonders if noon is too early to get drunk.

"Well," Bobby says as he polishes off his food. "It's nap time for me. Play nice, kids." He leaves his plate on the table for Sam to take care of and trudges upstairs.

Sam brings his beer up to his mouth before remembering that it's empty. He sets it back down on the table and wonders if Natasha had noticed.

"I can't love you the way he does," Natasha says, blunt as ever.

"Bobby?" Sam asks.

Natasha almost rolls her eyes. "Dean."

"Ew, he's my brother. I don't want you to love me like he does."

Natasha actually rolls her eyes this time. "That's not what I meant. You two are willing to die for each other, you're willing to put each other before the good of the Earth. I come first, then Clint, then SHIELD. You would come fourth."

Sam's less offended at that then he thought he'd be. Maybe because she's finally admitting that she might be able to love him or at least care for him. Or maybe it's because he can't handle another person loving him the way Dean does.

Sam reaches across the table to hold her hand and then thinks better than it. And then he decides to hell with it. If they're going to have a relationship then she's going to have to accept him as is.

He grabs her hands and looks up at her. "Dean traded his soul for my life once. He got dragged to hell to bring me back to life. Do you know how terrifying that is? Do you know how hard it is to live up to that kind of sacrifice? Do you know what it's like knowing that I'll always be in his debt? That I'll never be able to pay him back for what he's done? How guilty I feel whenever I screw up, because he burned in hell for me?"

Sam's squeezing her hands, probably hard enough to hurt, but she doesn't say anything, and her face doesn't betray anything, least of all pain. "I don't want you to love me the way Dean does. I don't want Dean to love me the way he does. It's too much. I want you to love me in whatever way you can."

"And if I can't?" she asks. "I don't remember the last time I loved someone."

She's scared, Sam realizes, and there's laughter bubbling up and out of him, because she's a spy and an assassin, and he's seen her take on alien space whales without batting an eyelash, but she's scared to fall in love with him.

"Everyone's scared," Sam says. "That's the beauty of it."

He pulls her in and kisses her, and he knows that they haven't solved everything, that there's going to be lots of fights in their futures, but it's a beginning, it's a start, and he can work with that.


End file.
